


The Last Pureblood Malfoy

by TheLoud



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Strippers, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-06-27 01:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoud/pseuds/TheLoud
Summary: Here’s my contribution to the ridiculously contrived, trashy, marriage law genre. This one involves Lucius Malfoy and a muggle stripper, with snarky commentary by Percy Weasley. Rated M for some sex scenes.





	1. Chapter 1

“Big tipper out there,” reported Amber, returning to the dressing room with her clothes in hand, wearing high heels, her bill-stuffed garter, and a smile. “White-haired bloke. Tipped me a tenner. I hope he wants a lapdance.” She hurried to put her thong, hotpants, and halter top back on, then rushed out the side door to work the floor.

Oh good, thought Lexie. Some old pensioner gleefully wasting his children’s inheritance on strippers was just the thing to cheer her up. If even Amber got a tenner just during her stage show, Lexie should do very well indeed. She finished doing her makeup, taking particular care around her eyes to make it look like she hadn’t been crying. If her ugly crying eyes cut into her tips tonight, well, that would be yet another thing that was Jake’s fault. That bastard. Him and his need for space, him not wanting to introduce her to his family, his not wanting to mess up the great thing they had by getting married or having kids, him and his stupid art that brought him great artistic fulfillment but never enough money to pay his half of the rent, you don’t mind, baby, do you? I’m sure I can cover it next month. Love ya babe.

Jake has no qualms about living off her hard-earned stripping money, but had plenty of qualms about introducing his stripper girlfriend to his parents. Fuck him. Or rather, she wouldn’t fuck him anymore. If she was going to support anyone, she’d support an actual baby, not a grown man who should be able to take care of himself. She was not Jake’s mother. She’d kicked that deadbeat’s stuff to the curb this morning. She was done with him. She could do better. No longer would she tolerate the bad behavior that went along with those sexy bad boy looks. Somewhere there was a man who wanted to get married and have kids, a good responsible man who could pay his half of the rent, put a new roll of toilet paper in the holder when the old one ran out, and not mooch off his girlfriend. He would not be sexy and exciting, she knew that. That was OK. She was growing up. She could learn to appreciate other, more important qualities.

If she ever had the opportunity. This theoretical responsible, stable man would not want anything to do with a stripper. That was the flaw in her plan.

Fuck it all. She needed a change. She didn’t want to be a stripper her whole life. She couldn’t, anyway. She’d show her age eventually, and then what would she do with no other work experience? She didn’t want to wind up like Amber, who was undoubtedly making her living by turning tricks on the side. She squinted and looked up, trying to keep the tears in. Her false eyelashes scattered the image of the bright lights over the mirror, making them look like stars. I wish upon a star, the thought, laughing to herself. I wish for a drastic change in my life.

“Lexie, you’re up next!” called the DJ.

Evidence of her tears was as concealed as it could be. She heard her name announced, her music start, so she put on a smile and charged out onto the stage. She grabbed hold of the pole and seemed to walk in a vertical circle, heels stomping on nothingness.

She took a break from the pole to shed some clothing, shirt, hotpants, thong, collecting cash in her garter. Then more pole dancing. She loved the artistry of it, feeling the strength in her muscles, the power of her momentum as she spun. She didn’t even want to break to collect tips, although that was supposedly why she was here. She had both halves of the rent to pay, though, so collect tips she did. She looked around for a customer she hadn’t harvested yet.

There was the white-haired man. Amber really had not described him well at all. Well, yes, his hair was close to white, in that it had probably started out as platinum blond before time had streaked it with pure white. It flowed down his back like ironed moonlight. He was tall and fairly thin, his face all sharp angles. He wore a long black coat of a peculiar, old-fashioned design, and a ring with a large green stone that glittered in the stage lights. He did not look like a pensioner. He looked like a rock star. Exactly which rock star, she couldn’t say. One of those aging but still famous ones. He held up a fifty-pound-note as bait, so she went to him.

“You’re the best dancer here,” he said, tucking the note in her garter. “Come back and give me a lap dance when you’re done.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I will.” She finished her stage show in a bit of a daze. Customers were not usually this good-looking. It would be weird to pretend to be attracted to someone who was actually attractive.

When her song ended, she gathered her scattered clothes, took a bow, and pranced offstage, back to the dressing room. She transferred her tips from her garter to her locker, hurried to put her skimpy clothes back on, checked her hair and makeup in the mirror, and set out via the side door to work the floor. She headed straight for the white-haired man, who, with a look of annoyance bordering on rage, was fending off a hard sell for a lapdance by Amber.

“Ah, there you are,” he said when Lexie approached. “The best dancer here.”

Amber harrumphed and wobbled away on her heels.

“I couldn’t forget to come back to you,” Lexie said with a practiced giggle. “Would you like a public lapdance in your chair here for ten pounds, or a private, nude lapdance for twenty?”

“Private of course,” he said, so she led the way to the back and found an empty stall. She sat the customer in a chair and stripped again, to the music of the stage show thumping through the air. He stared at her quite attentively. It was impossible to tell what color his eyes were in the dim light. They looked colorless.

She transferred her dance to his lap, straddling him, facing him, flinging her arms around his shoulders. She was doing her job well. He was hard. She ground into him and heard him gasp for breath with a hiss. His hands gripped her arse, moving her, so she had to whisper in his ear, “Sorry, you’re not allowed to touch me like that. House rule.” He growled but let go.

“I’ll have to get you out of this house then,” he said.

She didn’t respond. If the police were trying to trap her with a prostitution charge, it was particularly cruel of them to do it with such a good-looking cop. She writhed in his lap, arched back to give him a good view of her breasts, gasped in a practiced imitation of passion. He liked that. She’d undoubtedly get a big tip for this. Maybe he’d become a regular at the club. That would be nice.

“Stop,” he said, so she stopped. She looked in his colorless eyes. “You’re too good at this. I need a moment to calm down lest I embarrass myself.”

“No problem,” she said, easing away from his trouser-trapped cock, although not all her customers were too proud to come in their pants. She allowed herself a moment to sit back and admire the sharp angles of his pale face, his shadowed eyes.

He was giving her a similar look. “Will you marry me and bear my children?” he asked.

She couldn’t even say “What?” She just stared at him. She found himself laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said grimly. “Do you know anyone else who might be interested? I’m short of time.”

“No! I mean, what? You haven’t even told me your name.”

“My name,” he said even more grimly, “is Lucius Malfoy. Have you heard of me?”

She had the feeling she really should have, but if she tried to fake it, she’d undoubtedly embarrass herself even more later when he asked her which of his albums was her favorite or whatever, so she meekly said “No, sorry.”

This cheered him up considerably. “Good,” he said with a wicked grin. “The only really relevant information is that I am extremely rich, and seeking a fertile bride to produce an heir to inherit my vast fortune.”

“This has got to be a prank,” she said. She laughed. “Did Jake put you up to this?” But she couldn’t really see Jake being this creative.

He contemplated her. “So you’re not saying yes, not because you find this offer unappealing, but because you doubt its veracity?”

“Well. I mean. Blokes, especially good-looking and/or rich blokes, don’t just ask random girls to marry them. You’ve got to be joking.”

“So if I prove that my offer is sincere, you’ll do it?”

“That’s a big if.”

“Come on,” he said, taking her arm in his excitement. “I’ll take you to Malfoy Manor. My driver’s waiting outside.”

“Um. I should probably get my clothes back on first. And get my bag.” It was a really bad idea to get into cars with strange men she’d just met. She knew that. This fit right in with the long string of bad choices that comprised her life, so what the hell. “I shouldn’t be seen leaving with a customer,” she said. “They’ll think I’m whoring. You go first and I’ll meet you outside.”

He gave her a suspicious look. “I won’t wait long.”

“I know. I’ll be there soon.”

“Either way, I suppose I owe you for the lapdance.” He pulled a wad of random bills from his pocket and handed it to her. “Is that sufficient?”

“Um, yeah.” Several of those bills were twenties. She took the money.

He straightened his clothes and stalked out of the little room. A moment later, she left, and went to the dressing room to change back into her street clothes and get her bag. “I’m not feeling well,” she told her fellow dancers. “I’m calling it a night.” There was general acknowledgment that she had looked tired when she’d first shown up, and wishes to get well soon. She paid her fees to the DJ and the house on her way out.

His platinum white hair was unmistakable under the streetlights. “Lucius!” she called, waving her hand.

“You came,” he said, shocked.

“You must think I’m crazy,” she said.

“I don’t care about your mind,” he said dismissively. “Get in the car.”

She didn’t know what he was talking about, as there was no car, so this was where his story started to break down, but then she heard a very faint but unmistakable click as he opened a car door for her. The car was such a perfect matte black, it looked more like a shadow than a solid object. It was difficult to get her eyes to register it at all. She got in and sank into a comfortable seat as he closed the door with a quiet click and entered through the door on the other side. “Malfoy Manor,” he told the driver. “Quickly.”

There were no seatbelts. The car accelerated smoothly, in perfect silence, and they seemed to encounter no red lights or stop signs at all.

She looked at her fiancé, staring moodily out his window. He’s must have just had a messy breakup too, she thought. That’s when people do drastic, stupid things.

She tried to look out her window, but it was dark, and the view made no sense. Stonehenge was nowhere near here. Shortly after they passed that, the car finally slowed down. It drove through an ornate iron gate that opened as they approached, and along a long driveway, between extensive formal gardens, approaching what appeared, in the moonlight, to be a palace. It was the sort of building that should be a museum, not a private residence. 

“That’s your house?” she asked, feeling stupid, because of course he would say yes.

“One of them, yes,” he said. “My ancestral home. Armand Malfoy arrived in 1066 with William the Conqueror, who rewarded us with this land in gratitude for services rendered, and this has been our main residence since. Over nine hundred years. We might not make it to a thousand. I’m the last of the line. I’d hate for it to end on my watch.” He got out of the car, walked around it, and opened her door. “I’ll give you the tour.” He offered his hand to help her out of the car.

The grand front door opened automatically as they approached, although Lexie saw no servants. It was a little odd for a palace to have sensor-operated doors like a supermarket, but she couldn’t honestly say it was a worse thing for rich people to spend their money on than, say, strippers.

“What do you want to see?” he asked. “Ballroom? No poles, sorry, as the balls here feature a different type of dancing. I could have a pole installed if you like. Dining room. Music room. Library. It wouldn’t be proper to take you to a bedroom until after the wedding of course.”

“I’m just amazed this is real,” she said. “And it’s yours?” It looked better kept up than a museum. It had clearly been updated since 1066, at least as recently as the 1700s, for it greatly resembled Versailles. Strangely, the walls had many framed pictures, but they were all turned to face the wall. Was the subject matter embarrassing? Were they all Elvis on black velvet? Paint by numbers? Stolen? Was the real Mona Lisa actually here?

“Yes, it’s real,” he said. “And mine. I live alone, with my servants of course. So, now that you see my story is true, you’ll marry me. I’ll call the Ministry from my office to request an officiant. I hope someone is available at this hour.”

“You mean now?” she said.

He was gone, leaving her in what he’d called the drawing room, spacious enough that the many inscrutable knickknacks looked more like museum displays than clutter, and with wall-facing pictures.

Perhaps ten minutes later, she heard two arguing men approach. One voice was Lucius’s, the other unfamiliar.

“You can’t tell me _you’re_ performing marriages now!” growled Lucius. “This isn’t your usual job at the Ministry.”

“Oh, we’ve all had to take shifts performing marriages since the law passed,” laughed the other voice. “The Department of Rituals has been quite overwhelmed.”

“Couldn’t they have sent anyone else at all?”

“Oh, they could have, but I asked for this assignment specifically,” laughed the other voice. “I called in some favors to get it. I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, you see.”

“Drown you in Atlantis, Weasley. Anyway, I left her in here in the drawing room.” 

“You really think she hasn’t made a run for it?” 

The door opened to reveal Lucius, looking as intimidatingly handsome as ever, glaring at a smirking young red-haired man wearing a strangely-cut suit, and carrying a briefcase. The smirker looked at Lexie appraisingly, and seemed surprised by what he saw.

Lucius introduced them. “My fiancé, Lexie. The officiant for our wedding, Percival Weasley.”

Weasley took her hand and bent over it to give it formal and perfunctory kiss. “It is my pleasure to at last meet the next Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Um. Likewise. I mean…”

Weasley’s orange eyebrows bristled over his blue eyes. He spoke to her slowly and condescendingly. “You seem confused. Do you know where you are?”

“Malfoy Manor,” she said, offended. “With my fiancé, Lucius.”

“Quite right, but are you really here willingly?” Weasley drew a stick from his breast pocket and waved it in her direction. “ _Specialis revelio_. Hm. I’m not detecting any tampering here, although of course Malfoy wouldn’t have been so obvious about it.” He tucked the stick back in his pocket.

Weasley then opened his briefcase on a small table and took out a scroll. They all sat on elegant and comfortable chairs around the table. The parchment was titled Marriage Contract, and had some blank spaces to fill in. He next took a feather quill, dipped it in a small bottle of black ink, and began writing. “Today’s date… Officiant, Percival Weasley,” he said as he wrote in beautiful calligraphy. “Bride’s full name?”

“I guess you want my legal name,” she said. “It’s Alexandra Saltito. Lexie is just my stage name.”

Lucius didn’t seem to find this revelation particularly interesting.

“Could you spell that?” asked Weasley, so she did.

“Blood status?” Weasley asked next, quill poised over parchment.

“What?” Was she supposed to get a blood test? Prove she was disease-free? Did they need to know her blood type for some reason?

“Are you a halfblood or a muggleborn?” Weasley explained impatiently.

“A what or a what?”

Weasley, confused, looked back and forth between Lexie, who was at least as confused, and Lucius, who looked furious. Weasley eventually burst into quite unprofessional laughter. “She’s a muggle!” he crowed. “Lucius Malfoy, last of the noble and most ancient house of Malfoy, is marrying a muggle! This could end your line! The Malfoys might be nothing but squibs from now on!”

Lexie was pretty sure that gloating was not part of the official ceremony.

“When the call came for an officiant for your wedding, I must say there was much speculation around the Ministry. How could a Malfoy have convinced a halfblood or muggleborn to marry him? There was talk of an Imperius curse or at least a Confundus charm, or perhaps Amortentia. Now I see that no halfblood or muggleborn would have you, although I’m sure you must have tried.” He resumed writing. “Blood status: Muggle. Ha! Groom’s name, Lucius Malfoy. Blood status: Pureblood. This is a historic occasion. I knew this marked the end of the pureblood Malfoys, but this is even better! Someday, years from now, when my grandchildren are studying this era in their history class,” His sneer, impossibly, got even wider, “and yours are not, I will tell them that I actually met that historic figure, the very last Malfoy to inflict his company on our society.”

“At least I will be in the history books,” said Lucius silkily. “As I am a major player, not some minor flunky who flitted indecisively from one side to the other, never affecting either enough to be noticed.” 

“I fought in the final battle!” said Weasley.

“Yes, yes, but did you actually do anything but stand there and watch one of your innumerable brothers shot down next to you? That’s one death that won’t even be a footnote in the history books. No one notices if there’s one fewer Weasley.”

Weasley, magenta with rage, stood and reached for the stick in his pocket again.

“Go ahead,” said Lucius calmly. “My old prison cell is probably empty now. Everyone at the Ministry knows of our enmity, knows how you schemed to get into my home tonight, where you would never otherwise be allowed. You don’t have nearly enough influence to weasel your way out of an assault charge.”

Weasley kept his stick in his pocket, and slowly lowered his hand. He visibly forced himself to calm down, fading from his absurd magenta back to a more subtle lightly-freckled pale pink. “You’re not worth it,” he sneered as he sat down again.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same about you,” said Lucius. “Now get on with it. The deadline is at midnight.”

“Oh, I know,” said Weasley, reclaiming an approximation of his former smirk. “Waited until the last minute, did you? You desperately searched for any halfblood or muggleborn who’d give you the time of day, to no avail, so you had to settle for an actual honest-to-goodness muggle. That’s how low you had to stoop to find anyone willing to marry a Malfoy.”

“You’re being very rude,” said Lexie.

Weasley’s gloating was finally tempered with a bit of concern. He addressed Lexie. “I don’t know if it’s ethical for me to officiate this wedding. I mean, how well do you know Malfoy? Have you seen his Mark?” He turned to Lucius. “Does she know you took the Mark?”

Lucius slowly took off his long black jacket, then removed the emerald cufflink of the left sleeve of his shirt and pushed the white linen up his arm to reveal a faded black tattoo of a skull and snake. It looked much more metal than the rest of him. She giggled at the incongruity.

Lucius and Weasley stared at her, shocked at this reaction. 

“You really intend to marry a man with that Mark on his arm?” asked Weasley, outraged.

“I’ve got nothing against tattoos.” said Lexie, shrugging. “My ex has more tattoos than that.”

“She has no idea what it means,” said Lucius, pushing his sleeve back to cover the tattoo once more. He grinned triumphantly.  “And you can’t tell her without violating the Statute of Secrecy!”

“Exceptions are made for spouses, you know that,” said Weasley.

“She’s not my spouse yet,” said Lucius.

“But—“

“Not a word, Weasley,” smirked Lucius. “I obey the law, and I certainly hope you do too, or MLE will certainly hear of it.”

“What’s MLE?” asked Lexie.

“Remember your audience, Weasley.”

Weasley glared at Malfoy. “A department of law enforcement. Certain information is confidential, including the meaning of that Mark on your fiancé’s arm. But trust me, it’s bad.”

Lexie couldn’t think of a reason to trust him.

Weasley kept trying to obstruct things. “You don’t really have to do this you know,” he said, now seeming to take pity on Malfoy. “My brother Charlie just renounced his British citizenship and is now officially a Romanian citizen, and still single. They don’t have this marriage law there. Of course, his objection wasn’t to marrying a woman of lower blood status, but to marrying at all.”

“While I am of course cheered by the thought that at least one Weasley has left our shores, this news is otherwise irrelevant to me,” said Lucius. “I am not leaving Britain. The Malfoys have been here for over nine hundred years.”

“Oblivious to numerous hints that you’ve overstayed your welcome.” Weasley sighed sadly at Lexie. “I’m trying to protect you here. I’ve got to do something. This is just a standard marriage contract, which was not written with this particular situation in mind.” He read it aloud. “The groom, Lucius Malfoy, swears to financially support his bride and any offspring of this union, acknowledging them as his heirs.” He dipped his quill in ink and added some more words. “And to refrain from torturing, imprisoning, killing, or otherwise abusing her or her loved ones. That addition all right with you, Malfoy? I’ll need you to initial it.”

Lucius snorted. “The clause is completely unnecessary, but if you insist, Weasley.” 

Weasley looked at Lexie with concerned eyes. “Is that enough? Can you think of anything else I should add?”

“Um. Not really.”

“I hope that’s enough. And on the bride’s side of the contract, the bride, Alexandra Saltito, swears fealty to the noble and most ancient house of Malfoy, taking his name, yielding her body to no man but him, ensuring the paternity of her children. She must produce a male heir within seven years or the groom has the option of annulling the marriage, at his discretion. Can you think of anything you want to change about that?”

“Make it five,” said Lucius.

“What?” asked Weasley.

“If she’s barren, I’d rather annul the marriage after five years than seven.”

Weasley hesitated, then shrugged. “Sure, why not? You owe me, Malfoy. You’ll just have to find a replacement bride somehow, and good luck with that.” He scratched the change onto the parchment with his quill. “Of course,” he said to Lexie in a comforting tone, “if you don’t produce a Malfoy heir after five years, or seven, or any amount of time, don’t assume you’re the one who’s barren. Everyone knows the Malfoys shoot blanks, if they shoot at all. That’s what inbreeding does. Well, that and insanity.” 

“Just because the Weasleys breed like rats—“ started Lucius.

“So if you two are both satisfied with the wording of this contract, I’ll get the ritual dagger,” said Weasley, opening his briefcase again to get an ornate silver dagger, a small bowl inscribed with runes, and a fresh quill.

“What?!” shrieked Lexie. The two men stared at her. 

Weasley turned to Lucius with a pitying look. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather move to Romania?” 

“My lawyers already looked into it,” he said. “Romania declined, as did all other countries.”

Weasley looked back to Lexie and spoke with an imitation of patience. “You don’t know this, because you’re a muggle, so I’ll explain. The ritual requires a blood sacrifice from both of you. You will each cut your hand to spill a few drops of blood into this bowl, mix the blood, dip this quill in it, and sign your names. And initial these alterations to the contract. Then you’ll clasp right arms and I’ll say a few words over your union, and get out of here. My brother Ron already told me all I need to know about Malfoy hospitality, so I have no desire to experience it myself. Your marriage will have to be consummated before midnight tonight, because that’s the deadline of the marriage law. OK?”

“What marriage law?” asked Lexie. “What is this about?”

Weasley sighed at her ignorance. “To fight the inbreeding problem that has been getting worse among the noble and ancient pureblood families such as Malfoy’s, and also replenish our recently depleted population, all single purebloods of reproductive age are required to marry and attempt to reproduce with a halfblood, muggleborn, or even actual muggle, or face a prison sentence.”

Weasley took another opportunity to gloat at Lucius. “Of course, any _well-connected_ pureblood got advance warning of the law, and so could take the simple precaution of marrying a fellow pureblood before the new law took effect, with no more inconvenience than a difficulty booking wedding venues. My darling Audrey was happy to marry a fellow pureblood, not just to take the honorable name of Weasley, but to make the new marriage law irrelevant to her when it took effect. It doesn’t annul extant marriages.” He turned back to Lexie. “Of course, Malfoy here was rather busy facing trial for treason at the time, leaving him few opportunities to romance his fellow purebloods.”

Weasley turned his smirk back to Lucius. “Incidentally, this leaves me in a rather interesting position as the only Weasley of my family to have married a fellow pureblood. Bill might be my oldest brother, but his wife isn’t even fully human, so I’m sure my mother will talk my father out of making him the Weasley heir. Charlie is out of the line of succession for obvious reasons. That puts me in an unusually prominent position for a third son, and I intend to take full advantage of it. If you have any plans to resume your old activities around the Ministry, Malfoy, be aware that I’ll be there too. The Weasley star is ascendant, while yours is falling.”

Would this guy shut up with his gloating at Lucius already? “But,” tried Lexie, “What is the point of this marriage law if people could just avoid it by marrying a pureblood in advance? Whatever a pureblood is.”

“As for what a pureblood is, I’m afraid the Statute of Secrecy prohibits me from telling you until you are actually married to one of our community. But the point of the marriage law? Well. Between you and me, the real intention of the law was to get the extreme blood purists to leave the country, and it’s been quite effective, as very many of them have left voluntarily rather than debase themselves by marrying those of lower blood status. Many, like Malfoy here, were too busy with their criminal trials to take the precaution of marrying a fellow pureblood before the law took effect, even if they somehow did get advanced warning. We were very careful not to let word out to anyone we didn’t want to know. I’m afraid that when we wrote the law, we didn’t account for the fact that the worst of our war criminals would have nowhere else to go, so we’re stuck with them. Making Malfoy marry a muggle, though, is nearly as good as sending him out of the country or to prison.” He again directed his gloating at Lucius. “Once your line is diluted with muggle blood, there might be nothing left of your family in future generations but your name and wealth, without your power. Not quite sufficient punishment for a war criminal, but at least it’s something.”

“I am not a war criminal,” said Lucius coldly. “Potter himself spoke in my defense at my trial, and the court sentenced me to nothing more than time already served. My actions were vital to the victory of the Light.”

“You switched sides when you realized you’d backed the loser,” said Weasley. “That doesn’t negate what you did before.”

“You of all people accuse me of switching sides!” said Lucius with cold fury. “You were as drawn to power as I was, but you were not valued enough to be invited into his inner circle. And what did you sacrifice when you abandoned him? You were beneath his notice. The Dark Lord murdered my wife and son to punish my disloyalty. After all I’ve lost in service to the Light—“

“Save it for someone who cares,” said Weasley. “Let’s get this over with.” He handed the dagger hilt-first to Lucius, who positioned his left hand over the bowl and slashed at his palm while looking furiously at Weasley as if he’d rather be doing something else with that dagger. Ordinary-looking blood, as red as anyone’s, dripped into the bowl. He handed the dagger to Lexie.

She looked at it. The blade was red with blood. Exchanging bodily fluids was probably the least of the dangers in this situation.

“Are you guys, like, Satanists or something?” she asked.

“What’s a Satanist?” asked Lucius.

“Muggle myth,” explained Weasley.

“Ah,” said Lucius. “If it’s a muggle thing, no, we’re not.”

In a life filled with poor choices, in which she always chose the exciting thing over the right thing, she might as well go for broke. She took the dagger and slashed her palm. It hurt surprisingly little. She watched her blood drip into the bowl. It was indistinguishable from Lucius’s.

“That’s enough,” said Weasley. “You didn’t have to cut nearly that deep you know. Aren’t you going to heal your bride’s hand?” he asked Lucius.

“This is entrapment,” said Lucius. “A Ministry worker is suggesting I violate the Statute of Secrecy. I won’t fall for it. I am a law-abiding citizen.”

“I’d do it, but you’d report me for violating it myself, wouldn’t you?” said Weasley.

“Would I do that to my fellow pureblood?” sneered Lucius. “We have so much in common, we need to look out for each other.”

“I didn’t come here to be insulted.” Weasley got up and wandered around the room. “I am distracted by your lovely decor, and thus not paying attention to any Statute violations that may or may not be taking place in this room. Why are your portraits all backwards? Oh. Of course.”

Lucius drew a stick similar to Weasley’s from his pocket. He pointed it at her hand. “ _Episkey_ ,” he said. Her slashed skin pulled itself together and sealed shut. In a day filled with weirdness, this was the weirdest thing yet. Lucius then did the same to his own hand, and said “ _scourgify_ ” to the blood on the table, and their hands. It vanished. Weasley ceased his admiration of the decor and returned to the table.

Lucius stirred the blood in the bowl with the quill, then initialed and signed the parchment in beautiful blood-red calligraphy, even more graceful than Weasley’s. He handed the quill to Lexie.

She looked at it. She had no idea how to write with a quill. “This doesn’t have to be neat, does it?” 

“Just sign,” grumbled Lucius.

She might as well have been writing with her toes, but she got some approximation of her initials and signature on the parchment. She didn’t appreciate the look Weasley gave her handwriting.

Weasley drew his stick from his breast pocket again. “Stand and clasp right arms, please.”

Lucius stood, so Lexie did too. Lucius removed his other emerald cufflink and rolled up his right sleeve. They clasped each other’s arms above the elbow, feeling skin on skin along the length of her arm. Lucius stared into her eyes, so she stared back. At the club, she’d thought the colorlessness of his eyes was a trick of the dim light, but no, even in this better light they were cold grey.

Weasley waved his wand and spoke some words of Latin, although she was pretty sure this was not a Catholic ceremony. Wisps of gold started to coil around their connected arms, thickening and coalescing into binding cords. She felt the very odd sensation that she couldn’t tell where her arm ended and where Lucius’s began. She could feel the tension in her shoulder, the squeeze of his hand on her arm, her hand grasping the wiry muscles of his arm, then the bulkiness of his sleeve rolled up around his elbow, the tension of his shoulder…

The gold bindings faded away, and with them the unfamiliar sensations.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said Weasley, cleaning and packing away the dagger and bowl in his briefcase. “On behalf of the Ministry, I officially offer my congratulations to the happy couple. I can’t wait to tell everyone at the office about this.” He actually giggled, then hoisted his briefcase and left. Lucius let go of her arm, which felt slightly like he was removing her arm, and slammed the door behind Weasley. 

“That was not my dream wedding,” said Lexie. “What an arsehole.”

“Spoken like a true Malfoy,” said Lucius. “The Weasleys have been pebbles in our shoes for generations. Anyway, now that you are a Malfoy, aside from acquiring a hatred for Weasleys, you should also have a Malfoy ring.” He reached into his pocket and offered her a ring with a green stone so huge, it couldn’t be a real emerald, right? Although if it were a real emerald, that would hardly be the weirdest thing about this situation.

She let him slip the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly, and was in a similar style to the ring he was already wearing.

Was kissing the bride part of this ceremony at all? It didn’t seem to be. She had an even more pressing desire. “So now that the contract’s signed, you can tell me what’s going on, right?”

“You are not officially my wife until we consummate the wedding, which must be done before midnight tonight.”

“I get that it’s illegal to tell me what all this is about if we’re not all the way married yet, but there’s no one here to report you, so—“

“There’s no time.”

“You’re afraid I’ll chicken out if I know the truth, and you have no time to find a replacement.”

“No, I am overwhelmed with desire for you and thus incapable of coherent speech. This way to your bedroom.”

She followed him along luxurious corridors lined with pictures, all with their blank backs facing her. “My bedroom?” she repeated.

“A bedroom, anyway,” he said. “If you don’t like it, there are plenty more you may choose from. Or you may redecorate a room to your taste. I don’t care.”

“Don’t married couples share?”

He walked in silence for a while. “Narcissa and I did. My wife. Murdered as punishment for my mistakes. I’m not ready to replace her.”

She could barely breathe as she remembered the two murders whose mentions Weasley had so callously ignored. “Of course. I’m sorry. I can’t believe they’d make a law like this. It’s not fair to you.”

Lucius laughed coldly. “I’m glad they’re not fair to me. If I got what I deserved, I’d be rotting in prison now.” They had reached a door, which he opened. They entered. It was, indeed, a beautifully-furnished bedroom. It had no pictures at all.

“Disrobe,” he commanded. “Do what you did in the club. It worked. I’m surprised anything worked, but that did.” He sat in a chair and watched her. 

“There’s no music,” she said. “I can’t really dance without music.”

He seemed concerned about this.

“A radio would do,” she said.

“A what?”

“A radio. Or record or tape or CD player or anything like that. Whatever music you like.” 

“I believe those are muggle things,” he said. “I don’t have any of those things.”

Could this get any weirder?

“Wait here,” he said. He abruptly left.

He was back a few minutes later carrying a large brass music box. He set it on a bedside table and flipped a switch, and mechanical birds fluttered their metal feathers, opened their metal beaks, and harmonized an intricate and unfamiliar tune. “Will that do?”

“I guess it will have to,” she said. It was very strange music to strip to. He watched silently from his chair. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, facing him, and tried to recall the exact dance moves he’d liked best. It took longer this time, but she eventually elicited the same response as last time. He made that hissing gasp again, drawing breath through his clenched teeth as she ground her hips down against his cock, which was straining at the fabric of his trousers. “You’re overdressed,” she said. She kept up a light rhythmic roll with her hips as she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off him. Even his chest hair was white. She’d ask him about those scars later. The tattoo looked cool against his pallor. She ran her hands over his hot skin.

There was a perfectly good bed over there, but here they were on a chair. She got up. “Come on,” she said, pulling him up out of the chair. “I thought you were the one worried about the deadline.”

He froze. She wanted to kick herself. Pressure to perform on schedule was not sexy, and taunts from that arsehole Weasley couldn’t possibly have helped. She tried to make it up to him by kneeling in front of him, unbuttoning his trousers, which took longer than she’d expected, as his fly was all buttons, no zipper. She pulled his trousers and shorts down. He participated by removing his shoes and socks and kicked the whole mess away as if it offended him. He was limp again.

She admired him anyway. He was lean and wiry, with an elegant grace, even now, as he looked rather embarrassed. She offered him an understanding look, which seemed to make him angry. “Get on the bed,” he commanded. “I’ll join you when I’m ready.”

“Let me help,” she said. She took his cock in hand and kissed it, then took it in her mouth, where it swelled most gratifyingly.

“Salazar’s serpent!” he exclaimed, which was unfortunate, as it made her laugh.

She slid her mouth off his cock to ask, “What did you say?”

“Don’t talk,” he said. “Do that again.”

“Don’t say things that make me laugh, and we have a deal,” she said. Those were the last things either of them said for a while.

He grasped her head and pulled her off him. “More of this later, but I don’t know if this counts as consummating the marriage. Get on the bed. Now.”

She obeyed, and he was on her, in her, thrusting hard, sweat dripping off his pale chest onto her. Gold tendrils started to wreath around them, coalescing into cords that drew them together. She again felt the unfamiliar sensations from his body as well as her own, feeling herself crushed beneath his weight of her husband, at the same time as she felt the resilience of his wife underneath him, wet and open to his thrusts. She felt a tension building in his body as he assailed her, claiming her as his own, much like William the Conqueror had done to England in 1066. She felt his orgasm almost as if it were hers. He did not cry out, but again made that snakelike hiss, gasping through clenched teeth.

He collapsed on top of her, panting. She lay beneath him, stunned. The gold tendrils had dissipated. Would they return? She hadn’t come, but in a very strange way she’d felt him coming, experienced how it felt to fill a nubile body with Malfoy seed. Had he felt her sensations as well? Probably not. If he had, he surely would have shown some interest in ensuring that her sensations were worth feeling. Oh well, the first time with Jake hadn’t been that great either. They had time to try again. They were married, by whatever strange law he followed.

He abruptly rolled off of her, got off the bed, and entered the bedroom’s adjoined bathroom. Soon she heard the shower running. He came out eventually and put his clothes back on without looking at her.

“Will it always be like that?” she asked. “I mean with the gold… stuff? Around us?”

“We’re married,” he said, although what this had to do with her question she didn’t know. 

Whatever. She could work with this. “So now that the marriage is consummated, so we are as married as we can be, you can tell me—“

“Goodnight,” he said. “I am very tired. I had a long and frustrating day even before I arrived at your workplace, and I have a long walk to my own bedroom.” He left.

Mrs. Malfoy lay on her bed. She needed a shower too, and it would take some work to scrub off all this makeup. Perhaps she should first take off this ring. If that was a real emerald, she didn’t want it popping out of its setting and getting washed down the drain.

The ring did not come off. It had slid on so easily, and felt comfortable rather than tight, but attempting to slide it off felt like she was trying to pull off her whole finger.

It would probably withstand the rigors of a shower then. She put her eyelashes back in their case, removed her makeup, showered, and was at a loss for what to do next. She normally danced until midnight, then commuted home and had a light supper before sleeping. This palace seemed asleep, perfectly silent.

She turned the music box back on and danced until she needed another shower, so she had another and went to bed.

In the morning, the clothes she’d worn and discarded the previous day were clean and folded on the dresser, which meant that someone had been in her room as she slept, which was creepy, but hey, it was kind of late to complain about creepiness. There was also a note with no message, just a map from her room to a rectangle labeled Smaller Dining Room in beautiful black calligraphy, which was good, because she was hungry. She walked through halls lined with pictures that had all been turned to face the walls.

The door opened as she approached, again with that supermarket door technology, and closed behind her. It was a beautiful, sunny room, with more wall-facing pictures, and windows overlooking formal gardens. There was no one there. “Um, hello? Lucius? Or his servants? Could I have some breakfast please?”

Perhaps a minute later, food suddenly appeared on the table as if beamed down from the Enterprise. She jumped back, then stared for a while. There was such a great variety, it could have satisfied any taste. Perfectly ripe fruits, ornate pastries, bacon, every possible egg preparation…

She hesitantly served herself, then sat and ate. The food seemed real, and exceptionally delicious. It satisfied her stomach but not her mind. 

After only a few minutes, the door opened and Lucius entered. He looked at her for a while. “You look different in daylight.”

“I’m not wearing makeup,” she explained. “Sorry if this look is a surprise. I could go put some on if you like.”

He sat and looked at her appraisingly. “You’re still beautiful,” he concluded. “And I’m rather relieved your eyelids aren’t actually blue. Don’t go to any trouble on my account, as I don’t plan to spend much time looking at your face anyway.”

“Now you can tell me what’s going on here.”

True to his word, he looked away from her face, to the table. “Breakfast? It’s noon.”

“I sleep late. I work nights, remember?”

“Not anymore, of course. You will be on my schedule now. Niffy!” he called. “Remove these breakfast foods and replace them with foods more suitable for lunch.” 

Everything on the table vanished. She’d been enjoying breakfast, and was not yet done.

“How did you do that?” she exclaimed.

“I didn’t,” he said. “My servant Niffy did. I could have, but I leave such domestic tasks to others. I’ll introduce him later, but for now I have instructed my servants not to show themselves to you. Before telling you anything, I first must have your word that you don’t speak a word of this to your fellow muggles. Since the seventeenth century, the Statute of Secrecy has required us to conceal ourselves from muggles, with very few exceptions. The few muggles who know about us must keep our secrets as well as we do. Can I be assured of your discretion?”

“Well. I mean. May I talk to muggles at all anymore? May I say I got married? Show off my ring? May I say your name? Considering it’s my name now.” 

“That should all be permissible, as long as you give the impression that I am a muggle, not a wizard.”

Not a… She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “But wizards aren’t real. They’re just in old stories.”

A couple of exquisitely-constructed salads materialized on the table. Lucius picked up one of his forks with his long-fingered hand. “Old stories from before the Statute took effect, you mean? From a time when muggle kings openly welcomed wizards in their courts, and we held positions of prestige and influence within the muggle world?” He selected and impaled a bit of salad on his silver fork and ate it. He paused to chew and swallow before continuing. “I’d say those old stories were true, but as they were told from a muggle perspective, they weren’t really. As powerful as you thought we were, you still had no comprehension of our true power. Your wars were our chess games, your kings, our pawns.

“Then, after the Statute, it all ended. You see, not all witches and wizards thrived under the old system like the Malfoys did. The Malfoys have always protected our bloodline from muggle contamination, marrying only witches of the finest pedigrees, and also the greatest magical power. Other wizards think nothing of marrying halfbloods, muggleborns, squibs, or even muggles, and so spawn weaklings, barely able to cast a spell.”

“I’ll need definitions of these terms.”

“Of course. A muggle is a person such as yourself, with no magical power at all, born to similarly non-magical parents. A halfblood is a person who has at least some magical ability despite having at least one muggle grandparent. You might wonder why we aren’t more specific about this, referring to quarterbloods and eighthbloods and so on. I have proposed this, but the wizarding community in general is not fond of maths, and would find such a classification system too complicated.

“Muggleborns are a delicate subject. By definition, they are witches and wizards who have no wizarding ancestry whatsoever, which is simply impossible, and absurd. They must actually be the unacknowledged bastard children of wizards and muggle women, and so would more accurately be called halfbloods. Some may even have two wizard parents, unmarried to each other for example, who stashed their inconveniently-conceived bastard among muggles to save themselves from embarrassment. Certainly, some of these so-called muggleborns are far too powerful to have come from the lowly origins they claim. However, at least in polite company, we must pretend that they are merely the children of muggles, and not speculate about any pureblood wizards they may resemble.

“I should also mention squibs, non-magical children born to magical parents, whether as a result of the unfortunate combining of non-magical traits inherited from the muggle ancestors of halfblood parents, or of a wife’s infidelity with a muggle. Not all wizards take sufficient precautions to guard their wives.” He gestured towards Lexie’s left hand, to, she realized, her ring.

“What? What is this ring about?”

“A Malfoy ring can be removed only by someone who’s a Malfoy by blood, not by marriage.” He demonstrated by grasping her left hand with his left, then slipping the ring off her finger with complete ease. He slid it back on before letting her hand go.

“But what does it do?”

“A faithful wife never finds out.”

“But what if you die before me? I mean, you probably will. You’re older than me. Then no one in the world can take it off me.”

“You’ll be in a rather awkward position then, but that won’t be my problem, as I’ll be dead. While that’s not the main purpose of the ring, a bit of extra insurance to discourage Malfoy wives from attempting to hasten their widowhood is a bonus. But we were talking about squibs. Lesser families such as the Weasleys allow their squibs to live. Some exceptionally shameless families even acknowledge and raise their squibs themselves rather than shunting them off to the muggle world.

“With all this talk of halfbloods and squibs, you are no doubt getting the impression that not all wizarding families guard the purity of their bloodlines as carefully as the Malfoys. Many wizards succumb to the temptation to marry for frivolous reasons such as love or lust, with no thought to the continuation of their wizarding heritage.

“This miscegenation spawns weaklings. The proliferation of these weaklings is a problem. Before the Statute, the Malfoys were thriving, but other, weaker wizarding folk were falling prey to persecution and witch-burnings. Muggles fear magic, and were determined to hunt us to extinction. Of course, the only witches and wizards they ever managed to kill were the weakest of us. This was no loss, as it could only improve our race to cull those pathetic individuals who call themselves witches or wizards, yet are unable to defend themselves from a mere muggle mob armed with torches and pitchforks.

“Not everyone saw it that way, however. There was much sentimental advocacy to protect every last witch and wizard. I can certainly see the argument that no muggle should ever be allowed to harm any of wizardkind. Whatever culling needs to be done, we can do ourselves.

“The obvious solution to the witchburning problem, clear to the right-thinking purebloods of the time, was to completely overpower and control the muggles with our magic, so they would never dare harm any witch or wizard again. Alas, such sensible voices were in the minority in the wizarding community. Instead, it was decided that, rather than flaunt our power, we had to hide it, completely withdrawing from the muggle world. Traditional wizarding entertainments were redefined as muggle-baiting and criminalized, even though there were and are so very many muggles, and they breed so fast, thinning the herd would really be beneficial. Is your salad not to your taste, Lexie? I could have the cook punished if you like. Or you could punish him yourself if that’s something you’d enjoy.”

“No. It’s fine. I guess I’m just not used to salad for breakfast. 

“This is lunch. It is after noon.” Lucius continued his explanation. “Of course, the Malfoys are a law-abiding family, and have followed the Statute to the letter since its inception. We completely withdrew any evidence of our magic from muggle society, as the Statute required.

”Niffy, we are done with our salads and ready for the next course.” The salad plates and forks disappeared and were replaced by soup bowls. There was silence at the table for a while as they started their soup, which was delicious. He eventually continued his tale. “About twenty years ago, one wizard started to lead a movement to change things, to defy the Statue, to return pureblood wizards to our rightful place as rulers over muggles and halfbloods alike. He was very clever. He knew that a Malfoy endorsement would lend respectability to his plan. You should first understand that there is an illegal curse, the Imperius, which can be used to completely control the mind of a victim. This ambitious wizard subjected me to this curse, making me use my considerable powers to support his aims, making it seem as if I endorsed his plan, which of course made it easier for him to recruit others, as many wizards wish to follow my example. He gave me the Dark Mark that Weasley was so concerned about. It’s not simply a tattoo. While he lived, it tied my magic to his, and strengthened his control over me. I assure you, I did not take it willingly.”

“So, you didn’t actually support his plan to make purebloods rule over muggles? I mean, that sounds a lot like—“

“The Wizengamot found me completely innocent, merely another of the Dark Lord’s victims. In fact, I was a great help to law enforcement once the Dark Lord fell, testifying against others who actually had joined him willingly. I had firsthand knowledge of their crimes, having, in many cases, recruited them myself to commit said crimes while I was Imperiused out of my own mind.”

“OK.” 

“So that was the First Wizarding War in a nutshell. Niffy, we are ready for the next course.” The soup bowls vanished and were replaced by plates with some sort of meat and vegetables, but Lexie wasn’t paying much attention to the food at that point. “The Malfoys came out of that war quite well. Many of our former rivals were in prison for treason. My son—“ His voice broke. He then resumed speaking, in a voice completely lacking in emotion. “My son was doing very well in school, establishing his status among children of important families as a Malfoy should. Then the Dark Lord, who everyone had assumed was dead, returned. Everything changed.

“I felt my Mark burn. He called all his followers, all who had taken his Mark, to serve him again. I couldn’t refuse. He was not pleased with what he called my betrayal after his seeming death. He assigned me an impossible task. I failed, and was arrested for even making the attempt. This time, the court didn’t believe my story about the Imperius curse. I was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. I thought that at least I was safe from the Dark Lord there. I was wrong.

“While I was in prison, my son willingly took the Mark. He was sixteen. He considered it an honor. He thought he could redeem our family in the Dark Lord’s eyes. He was an idealist, who truly believed the Dark Lord’s rhetoric. He gladly accepted the impossible task he was assigned: to kill the most powerful wizard in the world, the Dark Lord’s staunchest opponent.

“Draco, my son, came much closer to success than anyone could have realistically hoped. He did not actually kill his target, but did manage to disarm him so a more experienced duelist could kill him. After this stunning accomplishment by a child, one would think the Dark Lord would have rewarded my family, but… He did break me out of prison, along with all his other convicted followers. He then subjected my family to the dubious honor of using this, Malfoy Manor, to serve as his headquarters, my dungeon to hold his prisoners, my guest rooms to house his mercenaries, including an actual pack of werewolves who were used to living in the wilderness. Savages. It took forever to clean up after them. He mocked me, calling it an honor for me to give up my very own wand for his use. He destroyed it in a battle and left me wandless. This wand I use now is a recent replacement. To take a wizard’s wand…

“I look back on this time with shame. It took an unexpected conversation to shake me out of that nightmare. One day I was feeding the prisoners, as if I were some domestic servant. Without a wand, I could do little else. One of the prisoners was a the daughter of a publisher who had insisted on printing articles critical of the Dark Lord. This publisher became much more docile once his little girl was in our hands. A most peculiar girl, she often tried to strike up conversations with me, and said many unbelievable things. She told me that the Dark Lord I served, who preached pureblood supremacy, was, in fact, a halfblood! His father had been a muggle. I laughed at the time of course, but investigated in secret and, to my shock, found it to be true. Once I knew that, I could no longer serve this imposter. A Malfoy serving a halfblood! Impossible.

“My only task then was to get my wife and son out alive, and do as much harm to this presumptuous halfblood as possible before he killed me. I failed miserably at my most important task. I tried. Merlin knows I tried. I thought I’d hidden them in a safe place, they should have been completely unfindable, but…

“After the final battle, after the forces of the Light had grudgingly thanked me for my assistance defeating the Dark Lord, I went to the place where I had hidden my wife and son. Their bodies were barely recognizable. Narcissa was still wearing her ring. She must have been in agony when they…” He couldn’t finish his sentence.

This ring, the one she was wearing now. Her husband had taken it off the corpse of his last wife, who was killed for being married to him.

She looked up from her ring to her husband and realized she was being selfish. Here she was, unhappy over having to wear a secondhand ring, when Lucius was mourning his wife and child. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Quick as a martial artist, he hit her hand out of the way, grabbed that stick from his pocket again, and pointed it at her. “ _Levicorpus_.” She was suddenly yanked upside down, to dangle from one ankle in midair. Her shirt flopped annoyingly over her face. She wouldn’t chose such a shirt for pole dancing. He yanked it down further, to cover her face completely, leaving her torso bare. She heard his voice slowly circling her. “Do not presume to comfort me, muggle. I have various uses for you, but that is not one of them.”

He lightly ran his fingers over her skin, making her squirm, as he slowly walked around her. “You’re beautiful upside-down,” he remarked. “All that animalistic muggle strength, powerless before me. I’m tempted to quench my lust in you now, but instead I’ll look forward to this evening. I have rather a lot to do this afternoon. _Molliare_ . _Liberacorpus_.” She abruptly dropped to the floor, which looked like shining wood, but felt like foam rubber as she sank into it. She got up unsteadily and straightened her clothes.

“You have errands to run as well. I imagine you’ll want to gather your possessions from your former home, inform your former employer of your resignation, and tell whatever story you like to your friends and family to explain your new situation. You may take the car and driver we took last night. I’ll summon them.

“I don’t care if you have dinner here or elsewhere, but be back in your room by nine. I want time to enjoy your particular talents for an hour or so before I sleep. After generations of scorning such frivolity, I confess that I do see the appeal of marrying for lust.”

He hadn’t given any thought to when she might want to quench her own lust. Her husband took that sexy bad boy look to the next level. 

There was still something that didn’t make any sense. “You go to sleep around ten?”

“Yes, and generally wake up at six. I have quite a lot of catching up to do, getting my various business and charity endeavors in order after the neglect they suffered when I was otherwise engaged. Or attempting and failing to get engaged.”

He woke up at six. The horror of her new situation began to dawn on her. Her husband was a morning person.


	2. Chapter 2

After breakfast, or, as Lucius called it, “lunch,” he handed her an old-fashioned looking key. “Tap this thrice to call my car and driver. My driver’s name is Geoffrey. I’ve told him he’ll be serving you this afternoon. I’ll be in my office, and am not to be disturbed.” Not that she knew where his office was anyway. He swept out of the dining room.

Lexie left the dishes on the table like she was at a restaurant, got her purse from her room, and walked through the hall, lined with the blank backs of picture frames, until the front door opened for her automatically as if she was leaving a supermarket.

Outside, the grounds were grand, the manor imposing. She stood by the driveway and looked at the key. Tap tap tap. Then she felt silly for calling the car, since it had been there already. At least, she hadn’t noticed it driving up, but it was nonetheless there, she was pretty sure. It was hard for her eyes to focus on it.

The driver stepped out and opened a door for her. So this was Geoffrey. He wore a dark suit that her eyes had trouble perceiving any features in, just like the car. The only noticeable thing about him was the tiny emerald stud in his earlobe.

“Thank you Geoffrey,” she said. She stepped in, sinking into the comfortable seat. She told him her address, and he drove without a word.

“What’s it like, working for Malfoy?” she tried.

The silence stretched so long, she wondered if he was mute. “The pay is good,” he said eventually.

Lexie didn’t bother him with conversation again. It probably took a lot of concentration to drive like that, at daredevil speed, yet with a smooth ride. They reached her block of flats quickly. Geoffrey parked in the lorry loading zone. Lexie got out of the car, deciding not to insult Geoffrey with advice about parking. Instead, she just said, “Please wait for me. I won’t be long.” She let herself in.

Jake was there. Of course Jake was there, it wasn’t like he had a job or anything. He was putting his stuff back where it had been, after hauling it back in off the pavement.

Jake had numerous faults, but his appearance was not one of them. He was a dedicated gym rat, rippling with lean muscles, beautifully displayed in his tight white muscle shirt and jeans. His sleeveless shirt showed off his two full sleeves of colorful tattoos. His right arm was completely covered in clockwork gears, electronic circuitry, pieces of robots and rocketships, and gave the general impression that he was a cyborg with full chainsaw and motorcycle functionality. His left arm, on the other hand, crawled with prehistoric animals and more bones than a paleontology exhibit: dinosaurs, ferocious-looking sea creatures, things with faceted eyes, segmented bodies, and too many legs. The spikes of a stegosaurus accentuated his left bicep. When she’d asked, he’d explained that his tattoos were a reminder to live in the present, between the past and future. His long, shaggy hair was such a glossy black, it was nearly blue, contrasting gorgeously with his fair skin, always peppered with scratchy black stubble. Lexie tried not to think about how good that stubble felt on her skin. Brilliant blue eyes blazed from his angry face. “Where were you last night?” he demanded.

“It’s none of your business,” she said.

“I think it is my fucking business where my girlfriend is. I got back from the gym and all my stuff was in the street, and you were gone. I can’t find my leather jacket. I think someone must have stolen it when you just threw it out like that. What the hell?”

“I told you, I’m done with you. I kicked you out.” 

“Baby, you don’t mean that.”

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me.”

“You owe me a jacket. That was expensive.”

“I notice no one stole your art.”

“Of course not. My art sucks.”

She’s known this already, but hadn’t known that he knew.

Jake shrugged. “The art’s just a cover for what I’m really selling.”

Lexie worked it out. “You’re a fucking drug dealer?”

Jake shrugged his muscular shoulders eloquently again. Damn him for looking so good when he did that.

“If you’re a drug dealer, why the hell couldn't you pay your half of the rent?”

It was really unfair how sexy he looked when he drew her attention to his muscular shoulders by shrugging them. “I’m just getting started,” he said. “I have to build up a clientele. Pretty soon, I’ll be raking in the money. I’ll be able to take care of you, I promise. Fuck this shitty flat. I’ll buy you a house, I’ll buy you clothes, jewelry, whatever you want.” He was advancing on her, his blue eyes pulling her to him. “Anything for you, babe.” His hand caught the back of her head to pull her closer to him. His hard body pressed against hers.

He was lying. She knew he was lying. Her body recognized this pattern: they’d fight, and then have wild, passionate sex, and she’d be too exhausted to be angry at him anymore. She always did the exciting thing rather than the right thing. She leaned into his caress, and tilted her head up to meet his lips. Her left hand suddenly stung. Her ring was burning her. She screamed and shoved Jake away. The ring stopped burning.

They both stared at her ring. “Where did you get that?” said Jake after some time. “You… You must have found it at a thrift shop or something, right?”

“No,” said Lexie defiantly. The horror on Jake’s face showed that he knew it was a wedding ring, which was surprisingly quick for him. “I got married last night,” she confirmed.

“I don’t suppose your husband found that ring in a thrift shop,” said Jake helplessly.

“No,” said Lexie. “It’s an old family heirloom of his.”

“Aargh!” said Jake. This was fun. “That, that, aargh! That arsehole! Ruining my life! I’ll kill him!”

“I guess I won’t leave you my forwarding address,” said Lexie. “You don’t even know my new last name.”

“It’s Malfoy,” said Jake bitterly. He looked paler than usual. “You went and married Lucius fucking Malfoy just before the marriage law deadline last night. So thanks to you, he’s once again avoided prison. That slippery snake.” He sat and buried his face in his hands.

It was a while before Lexie could even say “What?! How do you know—“

“You’re wearing a Malfoy ring. Gods, you’re such an idiot, Lexie. You willingly put on a Malfoy ring.”

“How did you know it’s a Malfoy ring?” she managed.

“Everyone recognizes that ring,” he said. “Well. Everyone in the wizarding world at least.”

“You’re a wizard?! You’re a wizard and you can’t even find a magical way to put a new roll of paper in the holder when the old one runs out?”

“I’m a squib. Being a squib sucks. I don’t fit in either world. I couldn’t legally introduce you to my family without violating the Statute of Secrecy, since they have no hope of passing for muggles. I’m from an old pureblood family.” 

“Lucius is from an old pureblood family, and he went out to the muggle world to meet me, and everything was fine.”

“You couldn’t immediately tell that something about him was seriously off?”

“I just thought he was an eccentric rock star or something. You could have told me your family were new-age artists or something, I wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“You’re right. I failed to take into account exactly how stupid you are.”

“Hey! I’m not the one who can’t even make money as a drug dealer. So you not introducing me to your family had nothing to do with the fact that I’m a stripper? Was a stripper?”

“No, no of course not.”

“So you can prove it by introducing me now, now that I’m married to an actual wizard and you don’t have to hide their magic from me anymore. It’s fine to tell me anything about magic once I’m married to a wizard. So you could have married me. Like I wanted. All right, I am an idiot.”

“Now I can’t introduce you because you’re a Malfoy! That’s way worse than being a stripper. As if I’d have any reason to introduce you to them now anyway. ‘Hello mother, here’s my ex-girlfriend. It’s a good thing we broke up, since can you believe she was stupid enough to marry Lucius Malfoy?’ Yeah, that would go well.”

“Anyway, there’s no reason for me to meet them now. I’m done with you. I just came here to get my stuff.” She went to the bedroom to stuff her clothes in a suitcase. She wouldn’t need shabby furniture, chipped dishes and mismatched silverware anymore. Jake could keep it.

Jake followed her around the flat, continuing to berate her. “And he’s old, Lexie. He’s old enough to be your father.”

Lexie shrugged and gave Jake a malicious grin. “All the parts still work.”

Jake groaned satisfyingly. “I don’t need to hear about it.”

“You know what they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“Shut up.”

“He makes the cutest little sound when he comes, like—“

“Shut up!”

“—a hissing snake.”

“Now that’s taking the snake theme way too far,” said Jake, shuddering.

There was little in the flat that she wanted. She packed her stereo and record collection. “Where do you think you’re going to plug that in at Malfoy Manor?” asked Jake with a smirk. She ignored him. She took her massage oil, lube, and toys from the bedside table, enjoying the look on Jake’s face as she packed them away.

“It’s really over,” he said as if he’d just realized. And he’d called her stupid! “Oh fuck,” he added. He collapsed onto a beanbag chair patched with duct tape that she wouldn’t miss. “What am I going to do? Who’s going to pay the rent? I’ll be homeless!”

“You could get a job,” she suggested.

“I’m not qualified for anything,” he said. “I was brought up in the wizarding world, so that’s all I know, but I can’t get a job there without magic. And I have no clue what muggles do, really.”

She felt sorry for him. “You could be a stripper,” she suggested. “There are male strippers too. And you’re gorgeous. That’s your only redeeming quality, really.”

He glared at her. “Never. I have some pride,” he said scornfully, and Lexie was immediately relieved of the burden of any sympathy she may have felt for him.

“You’re not my problem anymore, Jake,” she said. 

He looked sly. “You introduced me to your parents.”

“I did. They don’t like you. I should have listened to them.

“Your parents think you’re a cocktail waitress.”

“Yes.”

“I have their phone number and address.”

She stared at him. “They have no reason to talk to you. You’re my ex-boyfriend.”

“They might be interested in what I have to say.”

“You’re my ex-boyfriend. Ex! They have no reason to believe anything you say about me.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“What do you want?”

“The rent’s coming due. You can’t just kick me out of my home.”

“I can, actually. You might recall that I did, just yesterday.” 

“But you can’t stop paying rent here unless you don’t mind your parents finding out about your previous career. You can afford it. You’re a Malfoy now.”

“Now I understand why the good pureblood families don’t allow their squibs to live. If only you’d been born a Malfoy, I wouldn’t have this problem.” 

Jake winced. “I’d rather be dead than a Malfoy, anyway.”

Carrying her stuff out to Geoffrey to load into the car took two trips. “Goodbye, Jake. I hope I never see you again.”

“Good luck in your new life,” said Jake. “You’ll need it.”

Geoffrey drove to the next address she gave him: her parents’ flat. She let herself in. The telly was very loud. She stood between the telly and her dad. “Hi dad.”

He grunted. “I can’t see the telly,” he complained.

“I just thought you’d want to know I got married,” she said.

“What? Not to that tattooed tramp!” 

“No. Different bloke. His name’s Lucius Malfoy.”

“He doesn’t have any tattoos, does he?”

“Just one.”

“Well I suppose that’s an improvement.” He tried to peer around Lexie. She got out of the way and went to the kitchen table. She found a scrap of paper and a pen. “Dear Mum,” she wrote. “I got married yesterday. My husband’s name is Lucius Malfoy.” That didn’t seem quite sufficient. “I’ll call to arrange a time for you to meet him. Don’t call the number at my old flat. I don’t live there anymore, and my ex Jake will only tell lies about me. Love, Lexie.” She left the note where her mother would hopefully find it after work, if she had any energy to read it.

Next stop, strip club. She explained to the manager that she wouldn’t be working there anymore, as her husband didn’t approve. The manager clucked her tongue at that. “Are you sure you want to be married to someone who disapproves of stripping? That’s closed-minded, that is.”

“I don’t think it’s that he disapproves of stripping, so much as he disapproves of his wife working evenings. Or maybe at all.”

The manager did not seem reassured. She shook her head. “Well, you made your bed, now you lie in it.”

Lexie hadn’t got a “congratulations” out of anyone unless you counted Weasley’s official statement on behalf of the Ministry. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need anyone’s approval.

Those were the three tasks on her to-do list, and it felt like time for lunch, or, as Lucius probably called it, “dinner,” so she had the Geoffrey take her back to Malfoy Manor, or as she should now call it, “home.”

When she tried to carry her stuff, she found that Geoffrey was carrying it already. The door opened automatically as she approached it. That didn’t seem secure, really. She had Geoffrey put her stuff in her room, and hung her clothes in the closet, which somehow made it look even more huge and empty. Then she headed to the smaller dining room. Geoffrey wasn’t there anymore, although she hadn’t actually seen him leave.

No one else was in the room. Lexie was tempted to order the mysterious servants to serve lunch, no, dinner, but didn’t want to see the food just vanish again if Lucius disapproved of it. She could wait for him. She explored the room. The pictures were all turned to face the walls, showing the blank wooden backs of the frames. She tentatively touched the corner of one. No alarms went off. She lifted it off the wall a few inches, peering into the shadow. A few more inches, and it was illuminated by the sunlight from the windows.

She’s been expecting some horror, something to put her off her lunch, but it was just a still life, skillfully painted in an old-fashioned realistic style. A bowl of fruit: pomegranates, figs, pears, apples, sat on a table draped with a green tablecloth. A knife lay on the tablecloth, ornate handle towards the viewer, an invitation to slice and eat. The fruit looked very appetizing. It was a perfectly ordinary picture to have in a dining room. It was disappointing, really.

Lexie suddenly felt dizzy, and tried to stop the picture from swaying. No, the picture wasn’t swaying, at least the frame wasn’t. The tablecloth painted into the picture was swaying as a painted, pale, long-fingered hand reached from under the table to move it aside.

Lexie let out a brief shriek as she released the picture frame to slam back into the wall. She stood there for a moment, heart racing, before backing away and sitting at the table.

Not long after, Lucius entered, and looked at her. “In this house, we dress for dinner,” he said. 

Lexie looked down at herself to check that she was, in fact, dressed. She wore the same jeans and floppy t-shirt she’d worn yesterday. She was definitely underdressed by Lucius’s standards. He looked like he was dressed up for, like, the opera or something, not that she’d ever been to the opera. Somewhere men wore beautifully tailored, long black robes and artfully-tied white linen cravats, anyway.

“Don’t you have better clothes than that?” he asked. “I thought you retrieved your possessions today.”

“I did. I, I’ll go change.” She hurried back to her room.

“Wait,” he called, so she stopped. “Do you require a servant to assist you in getting dressed? I’m afraid I haven’t had time to introduce you to my other servants yet. You may find their appearance surprising.”

“Um, no, I’m fine,” she said, rushing away.

She put on the formal dress that had got her kicked out of a school dance for violating their stupid dress code. Pretty lingerie underneath of course. Heels, stockings, a tasteful amount of makeup... It would have to do. She hurried back.

“Better,” Lucius said. “And impressively quick. I’ll have to buy some proper clothes for you, but that will do for now.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit. Eat.”

She did. The food was delicious. “So,” she tried. “How was your day?”

“I made some headway in restoring my affairs to order,” he said. “The deaths or imprisonments of so many of my former associates changes things. There’s more room on the chessboard now. And how was your day?” 

“I went back to my old flat to get my stuff,” she reported. “My ex was there. He’s an arsehole. And apparently a squib, which he hadn’t told me before. He recognized this as a Malfoy ring.”

“A squib?” Lucius’s thin lips curled in distaste. “What’s his name?”

“Jake Grey. He said he’s from an old pureblood family.”

“Grey isn’t an old pureblood name,” said Lucius. “I’d be surprised if his family allowed him to use their name, of course. This is interesting, an old pureblood family trying to hide their squib in the muggle world. What does he look like?”

“Gorgeous” probably wasn’t the right word to describe her ex to her husband, so she skipped it. “Black hair, fair skin, blue eyes,” seemed safe.

“Hm. How old?”

“Twenty-one, he said.”

“Hm. Handsome lad?”

There was no denying it. “Yes,” she admitted. “The only good thing about him, really,” she added to be safe. 

“With coloring like that, I’d say he was from the Black family, but they’ve pretty much died out by now. Tragic, the end of a noble and most ancient house, known for both their great magical power and physical beauty. Narcissa’s maiden name was Black, although she was uncharacteristically blonde. She was one of the last of that great family. Well, Andromeda is left, but she married a muggleborn. She wouldn’t have kicked a squib out of her family. No standards at all. She let her daughter marry a werewolf for Merlin’s sake. Anyway, I can’t think of anyone else of that family who would have been reproducing twenty-one years ago and allowed a squib to live, so this squib must be from some other family. I’m tempted to go see who he resembles.” He looked cheerful as a thought occurred to him. “Would you like me to have him killed?”

She looked at his cold grey eyes. She didn’t know him well enough to tell if he was joking. “Are you done with dinner?” she asked.

“I could be,” he said, putting down his fork.

“Good. Let’s go to bed.”

“Are you tired?” he asked, standing.

“Tired? No. I want to fuck you.” She got up too. “I thought that was obvious, with you talking all seductive like that.”

“What did I say? I was just relating some old gossip about a family you don’t know.”

She walked closer to him, “Say what you said before. About what you’d do to Jake. Say it again.”

“Oh, that. Would you like me to have him killed?”

Lexie kissed her husband hungrily, which seemed to surprise him, but he soon returned the kiss. Out of the corner of her mind, she sensed a faint gold tendril starting to twine around them. She leaned her senses into it instinctively, feeling it grow stronger the more of her attention she fed it, until she could feel Lucius’s sensations as well as her own, his hands appreciating her body as thoroughly as she was appreciating his. She broke the kiss eventually. “Come on. I’m about to have my way with you on this table, but we’d be more comfortable on a bed.” She pulled him back to her room. 

Her attempt to undress him was thwarted by the fact that his clothes were bizarre. What was going on with that cravat? How many buttons did a jacket really need? How did cufflinks work? Were his trousers actually held closed with lacing? Lucius laughed at her fumbling and undressed himself, then was equally stymied by her dress.

“There’s a zipper in back,” she said helpfully, turning around.

“A what?”

“A zipper. Here, I’ll show you.” She undid it herself, and slipped out of her dress, so she was wearing only the lingerie she’d carefully chosen. He seemed to like green, although none of the decor was this particular shade of fluorescent lime. 

If his lustful look was any indication, she had chosen well. “What’s the trick to this?” he asked, running his hand under a shoulder strap of her bra. His touch sent a thrill through her.

“It hooks in back. I’ll do it.” She did. She liked the look Lucius gave her breasts, but he didn’t touch them, just impatiently pulled her knickers down. She stepped out of them. Her thigh-high stockings could stay on, as they weren’t in the way, and she was in a rush.

“Get on the bed,” he commanded, so she slipped off her heels and did, then watched him give his cock a few yanks until it stood at attention. Watching him do that was exciting, but she felt a little insulted that he’d done it himself rather than let her do it. Now that they weren’t touching, the gold cords had faded, and with them the shared sensations. They reappeared, though, when he launched himself at her and started fucking her hard. The doubled sensations were dizzying, as she felt both his hard cock impaling her, and her soft pussy engulfing him. She tried to rock her hips in time with his thrusts, wrapped her legs around him and tried to slow him down a bit, for at this rate, it would be over fast, but she might as well have stood on train tracks to try to slow down a train.

“Slow down,” she said.

He looked surprised. “You are not in charge,” he said, and at his voice, she felt herself clench around his cock. He gasped “Oh Merlin.” He fixed his cold grey eyes on hers, grabbed her wrists and pressed them to the bed. “There’s no point struggling. Your body became mine when you signed the marriage contract. Your chance to refuse me is past.”

Lexie moaned, gave his cock another squeeze, and rocked her hips as much as she could with her husband’s weight crushing her, for he’d stopped thrusting to thrill her with this dirty talk, and she ached for more. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’m yours. Oh don’t stop, Lucius, fuck me, fuck me hard. Please.”

“I’m glad you know your place,” he said, pulling out to slowly impale her again. She moved her hips to meet him and moaned. She squeezed his cock again, shimmied her hips to get some extra sensation, feeling them both climb closer to orgasm. “That’s right,” he said with a smile, almost a tender reassurance. “You’re making this easier on yourself. Keep that up, and I’ll be done very soon.” He resumed his vigorous thrusts.

Lucius was not an expressive man, but that hissing gasp said a lot, especially when these magical golden cords enabled her to feel his orgasm almost as if it were her own. He collapsed on top of her. She twitched her hips, needing only a little more, but there was no more. When he released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around his sweaty back, slowly cooling.

“Can you feel what I’m feeling too?” she asked. “With those magic golden string things?”

Lucius abruptly propped himself up on his elbows to look in her face, concerned. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. Of course you can’t block them without occlumency.”

“What?”

“Occlumency, the magical art of preventing interference with one’s mind. I’m afraid I fell into the old habit I had with Narcissa, and blocked only incoming sensations, not outgoing ones.”

“What? Why would you block this at all? It’s awesome. It makes sex twice as good.”

“What?”

“I can feel what you feel. It’s great! I mean, at least it’s great when you’re feeling good, and you seem to be. What’s not to like?”

Lucius’s white eyebrows bristled over his colorless eyes. He did have expressions, it was just hard to see them on a face so uniformly pale it seemed featureless. An eyebrow pencil would help. “Narcissa did like to check in on my sensations periodically,” he said cautiously, “so she’d have warning for when I lost control, and could look forward to it being over. That’s why she asked me not to block my outgoing sensations. She was skilled enough in occlumency that she could block her perception of my sensations at will. Most witches and wizards can't do that, as occlumency is a difficult skill to master. For most people, this spell adds insult to injury, that not only does the marriage contract obligate a wife to allow her husband to violate her body, but the spell even enables a husband to violate his wife’s mind. I see no reason for such unnecessary cruelty. The continuation of the Malfoy line requires only my use of your body. Your feelings are not my concern.”

“What?!” It wouldn’t do to speak ill of a man’s murdered wife, but sheesh, what a waste of magic. Maybe it was best not to speak of her at all. “Don’t you want to feel what I’m feeling?”

“My experience is not enhanced by the perception of myself as some sweaty brute ravaging what feels almost like my own tender body. Prolonging my wife’s suffering only makes completing my task more difficult. I learned early on that I had to block the sensations from my wife’s body if I wanted any chance of begetting an heir.”

“What?” Lexie said. “But I like that you’re a sweaty brute. That’s sexy. You’re powerful and exciting and dangerous.”

A drop of sweat glided down his neck and hovered over her. She licked it off his skin before it could fall. “And you taste good. Salty. I like it.” 

He recoiled, pulling his limp cock out of her with no consideration for the sheets getting wet, and stared at her from the foot of the bed. She admired this view of his bare chest. He didn’t have Jake’s gym rat muscles, but there was a graceful elegance to him. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

“I felt like it. I like seeing you, feeling you, tasting you. I thought you were sexy the minute I saw you at the club. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise. It’s all right to let my sensations in; I assure you they’re good ones.” Certainly not bad ones, anyway. Lexie finally took her stockings off, as she felt overdressed next to Lucius, then opened the nightstand to get her massage oil. “We’re married. We’re supposed to make each other feel good.”

“That wasn’t in the contract.”

“Lie down. I want to give you a massage.”

“What?”

“I said lie down. I want to touch you all over. A massage is a good excuse to do that. Come on.” She pulled him face-down onto the bed and straddled his back. He didn’t resist much, weak from his recent orgasm.

Lexie poured a few drops of massage oil into her hand, set the bottle on the nightstand, and rubbed her hands together to warm them. She started on his shoulders, gliding her hands over his wiry muscles. “You’re so gorgeous,” she said.

“Do you need glasses?” he asked.

Lexie laughed. 

“Don’t stop,” he said, so she started again. “How you’re touching me feels good, but I assure you there’s no need to flatter me with lies. I don’t value your opinion.”

“I’m not lying,” she said. “You really are gorgeous. I mean, look at this adorable little bum,” she said, running her lightly-oiled hands over it. “This is not the bum of a man who sits around all day in this luxurious palace, having his servants feed him delicacies. This is a bum that goes out and does things. This is a fascinating bum, a bum with stories to tell. I could study it for hours.”

Lucius laughed. “My current condition may be giving you the wrong impression of my habits. The food in prison is terrible, and I had little to do but pace in my cell.”

“Well, however you got this way, I like the results. I wouldn’t have married you if I weren’t attracted to you. I’m not a whore.”

There was silence for a while after this as Lexie worked on smoothing the tension out of his muscles. Then Lucius said, “Your former profession—“

“Was not whoring,” she said, rubbing his muscles a bit more firmly than necessary. “Strippers sell the sizzle, not the steak.”

Another pause. Then, “You were not a virgin on our wedding night,” he observed.

Lexie laughed. “Obviously.”

“Were you married before?” Lucius asked. “Widowed?”

Lexie laughed again. “I’ve had boyfriends before, silly. I wasn’t saving myself for marriage. That’s so old-fashioned.”

Another pause. “Muggle customs are very different from wizarding, I see. Witches need to guard their purity to have a chance of marrying into a good family.”

“I’m glad I’m not a witch then. Flip over, I’ll massage your other side.” 

“I don’t think I can move. You take a lot out of me, literally.”

“Lazy bum,” she said affectionately, flipping him over with her strength. She started on the muscles of his chest. It would have been hard to tell if he liked what she was doing, if not for the golden cords connecting them. This muscle wanted a little less pressure, while that wanted more. A strand of his long hair was tickling his face, so she lifted it out of the way, ran her fingers through his hair, and gave his head a scratch for good measure, as that was just what his skin was craving.

“You’re amazing,” he said.

“This magic stuff is amazing.” She ran her nails down his belly, checking whether that felt like a good or bad tickle. No, it was too soon. She redirected her attention to his feet, massaging them with strong hands. The gold cords told her he liked that. She worked her way up to his calves, lifting each leg for better access. Onward to his thighs, long and lean. She gave his muscles a perfectly chaste massage. She experimentally ran her nails along his inner thigh. Oh yes, he liked that. She did it again, harder, enjoying the rush of secondhand pleasure the golden cords conveyed to her. It was time. She grasped his cock, feeling him grow harder in her hand. His sudden intake of breath told her that she’d taken him by surprise.

“I wouldn’t ask you to submit to me twice in one night,” said Lucius. “You satisfied me already.”

“You did all the work last time,” said Lexie, pumping him to hardness. “If I’m truly to serve the house of Malfoy, I should be doing the work. You just lie back and let me handle everything.” 

He did, gazing at her warily.

She locked eyes with him, making sure he was watching as she licked a drop of pre-cum off his cock. He tasted like both of them. She liked the way his breathing changed when she did that. Then she sucked him all the way in.

She leaned her awareness into his sensations. He liked when she did this, and this, that not so much… She felt his orgasm starting to build, so slowed down, keeping him near the edge but not letting him over. He let out a low groan.

She slid her mouth off his cock, continuing to stroke it with her hand. “Are you letting my sensations in?”

He wasn’t capable of speech for a bit. “I’m feeling quite enough on my own,” he eventually said. “You’re extraordinarily good at that. And I have no interest in tasting myself.”

“You’re really missing out. You’re delicious. But I suppose I can understand that. Anyway, I like feeling you on the edge, but I don’t want to frustrate you by making you wait longer than you’d like. Would you like me to drink your cum?”

“What?”

She’d taken him back in her mouth to give him time to answer, but slid off again. “You know. Feel free to come in my mouth if you’d like.”

“That…” He was temporally incapable of speech as she sucked him back in. “That would feel good, I’m sure. Oh gods, everything you do feels so good. Stop, let me talk. Let me think.” She did, grudgingly. “You have no contractual obligation to debase yourself that way. That wouldn’t beget any Malfoy heirs.”

She hadn’t gone off the pill yet, as her honeymoon didn’t seem like the right time, but she didn’t need to mention that now. She’d finish this cycle in a couple weeks, then get serious about fulfilling her contractual obligations. For now, she slid her body up her husband’s until her wet quim met his cock. “Let my sensations in,” she said, rubbing herself on him. She could feel his ease, lying back on the bed, her wetness sliding along his length, his urge to enter her as strongly as her urge to engulf him. She experimentally gave her clit a sudden rub, with no corresponding reaction from him. “Let me in,” she said. “I promise it’ll be worth your while.”

A sudden gasp let her know that he’d dropped his shields, so she took him into her, relishing the matched sensations of engulfing and being engulfed. She felt his orgasm building in him, so she was still, wanting to enjoy this for a while. When the imminent danger had receded, she gave him a squeeze and felt his arousal rise again. “You’re still letting me in, right?”

He nodded. “I feel…” She gave him another squeeze, feeling both him inside her and her around him. “Oh gods,” he said again.

It seemed safe to start a slow, rhythmic rocking of her hips, partly freeing him only to engulf him again. Ah yes, there was the right angle. Slowly, slowly, she let her own excitement build until she, too, was right at the edge.

She looked at Lucius’s face as she sped up the thrusting of her hips. He was staring at her as if he’d never seen anything like her.

Lexie smiled. “Come with me, Lucius.” Her movements got faster, wilder, more erratic, and Lucius started thrusting his hips, probably involuntarily, in a rhythm that didn’t really work with hers, but their orgasms exploded through them both nonetheless, to the sound of her moan and his hissing gasp, until she finally collapsed across him, panting. She didn’t know if she was feeling his exhaustion or hers, but it didn’t matter. They were sated.

Some time later, she realized she was drooling on his shoulder. She jerked her head away with a start and blotted at his shoulder with the sheet. “Sorry.” His arms around her tightened when she tried to get up, not letting her go.

He didn’t seem to have heard her, or noticed the drool. In fact, he seemed to have passed out, much like she had, and was clinging to her due to some primal instinct rather than conscious choice.

A fine third shag, Lexie reflected. Her husband made an adequate dildo, and she knew how to use one of those. Their fucking had been saved from being boring by this magic that connected them, which was really fucking awesome. However, this wasn’t the most comfortable position for either of them to collapse in afterward. She awkwardly reached back to unwrap his arms from her back.

“Mine,” he mumbled sleepily.

She paused, then continued until she was free. She replaced herself with the covers. Lucius stirred, but settled again. She tiptoed to the bathroom to shower. Lucius was still asleep when she returned. Of course he was asleep, this was nighttime for him. She tried to admire his sleeping form, but the light was too dim to see much. She should get some black sheets, or some other contrasting color, so he wasn’t so camouflaged. Green, probably.

To Lexie, this wasn’t bedtime. It felt more like dinner time. She put on sweatpants and a t-shirt, quietly left her room, and headed to the smaller dining room. Lamps lining the walls blazed into light as she approached, which was convenient, since she didn’t see any light switches.

The dining room illuminated itself when she opened the door. She entered and sat at the table. “Um. Lucius’s servants? If you’re awake, could I have some dinner please? I don’t need anything fancy, just whatever’s on hand.”

In about sixty seconds, a small salad appeared in front of her. She ate it. It was delicious of course. “Thanks. Could I have something else now please?” The empty salad dish vanished and was replaced by a bowl of soup, also delicious.

Lexie looked around the room. The beautiful decor was marred by the blank backs of the picture frames, dull brown rectangles where art should have been. She made up her mind as she finished her soup. She steeled her resolve as she ate her entree. She put her fork down, got up, and walked to the picture frame she’d turned before. It was just a bowl of fruit, a knife, and a mysterious pale hand, she assured herself, as if that was reassuring. She flipped the picture all the way around and let it fall back to the wall with a louder thud than she’d intended.

There was the bowl of fruit: pomegranates, figs, apples, pears. There was the knife, handle towards her. She reached for it, but touched only painted canvas.

Just when she was starting to feel let down, the pale, long-fingered hand reached from under the table to pull the tablecloth aside, and a painted picture of a teenaged boy crawled out from under it and stood next to it, although there wasn’t much room. He had to hunch to fit in the frame. They stared at each other in mutual shock for a while.

Lexie’s first thought was that this was a portrait of Lucius as a boy, for they looked nearly identical except for age. They had the same platinum blond hair, colorless eyes, and angular face. This painting also had the narrow shoulders of a boy who’d recently grown a lot vertically and had yet to catch up horizontally. He wore long black robes of an old-fashioned, elegant cut. “Why were all the pictures turned to the wall?” he demanded.

Lexie didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but this was not it. “Um. I don’t know.”

“Has the manor been seized?” the boy continued. “Sold? What’s going on? Tell me or I’ll…” He seemed at a loss for how to finish that sentence. “Just tell me,” he said instead.

Lexie waved her hands to indicate she was not a good source of information on these topics. The boy’s gaze flew to her left hand. “Why are you wearing my mother’s ring?!” he demanded.

The questions were coming faster than she could handle them. She’d better get started. “The manor hasn’t been sold or anything,” she assured the boy. “Lucius still owns it.”

The boy shoved the fruit bowl and knife aside and sat on the table. “He’s alive? How is he still alive?”

“He’s… I mean, he’s fine. He seems in perfect health,” she reassured the boy.

“Where is he? Azkaban?”

“He’s sleeping, in a bedroom down that hall.”

“He’s here? How? Is he under house arrest? Has he had his trial yet?”

“He’s fine. He had his trial, he was found innocent, or, well, he didn’t have to serve any more time. He’s a free man.” She tried to remember his argument with Weasley. “Potter himself spoke in his defence at his trial.”

“Potter?! Defending my father?” Here she was talking to a magical painting of a murdered boy, and the boy was the shocked one. He crossed his arms and slumped on the table. “I’ll need to hear the whole story, and he apparently can’t be bothered to tell me himself.” He looked around the dining room. “It’s cramped in this little still life,” he said. “Turn over that pastoral scene there, it has a lot more room.”

Lexie, with some difficulty, turned the very large painting he’d indicated, revealing a pretty landscape with birds quietly singing in a large tree. The boy grabbed a green apple from the bowl of fruit in the still life, then slipped out of sight, past the frame. He reappeared in the pastoral scene and stretched. “That’s better.” He leaned against the trunk of the tree. “Tell me everything.”

Where to begin?

“You’re the new Mrs. Malfoy, I see,” said the boy for her.

Lexie nodded.

“That was quick. My mother’s corpse has barely had time to cool.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing how to console someone for his mother’s death, or his own.

He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “Talk. Who are you? Where are you from? I didn’t see you at Hogwarts, and you’re barely older than I am.” 

“I’m twenty-two,” she said. “My name’s Lexie.”

“What’s your surname?”

“Saltito.”

“That’s not a wizarding name, at least not a British one. Are you from the continent?”

“No. I’m from London.”

The boy bristled his pale eyebrows at her. “Then why—“

“There’s a new law,” Lexie said fast. “A marriage law. All purebloods have to marry non-purebloods. It was supposedly to fight inbreeding, but really it was to drive diehard blood purists out of the country. No other country was willing to take Lucius, so he was stuck here. He married me just before the deadline, yesterday evening, to avoid going back to prison.” It didn’t sound so romantic when she put it like that. “He seems nice,” she added weakly.

The look the boy gave her made her regret adding that last bit. “Malfoys are not nice,” he said unnecessarily. 

“Well, anyway, we’re married now. This must be a difficult time for you. I mean…” She was talking to a painting. How were paintings supposed to mourn? He took a bite of his apple and stared off at the beautifully-painted hillside, grazed by slowly-moving sheep. “I’m not trying to replace your mother or anything.”

He gave a short laugh. “Obviously. Well Lexie, I hope you’re not too disappointed I won’t be calling you mother.”

“That’s fine, I wouldn’t ask you to.” Lucius had told her his son’s name, but she didn’t remember. She remembered it hadn’t sounded like a name. “And your name is…?”

“Draco.” He narrowed his colorless eyes at her. “Is this a joke? How can you not have heard of me? I thought all witches read those gossip mags.”

She shook her head.

He stared at her for a while, then finally howled with laughter. “That fucking hypocrite! Raised me to protect the purity of the Malfoy bloodline at all costs, and then he went and married a muggle! That’s what you are, aren’t you? I’m sure he couldn’t find a halfblood or muggleborn willing to marry him, not after he fought two wars for their subjugation.”

“He did what he had to do,” said Lexie. “That’s not hypocrisy, that’s just survival.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him.”

“He’s my husband. And your father. This is his house. I think you owe him some respect.

“His choices got my mother and me killed. I owe him nothing.” Draco flung his half-eaten apple at one of the singing birds, knocking it out of the tree. The bird fluttered its wings indignantly on the ground, then flew back up, apparently unhurt. “Well, now I understand why he has all the paintings turned around.”

She waited, but he didn’t fill her in. “Why?” she finally asked.

His only reply was a contemptuous look.

“Hey, I told you lots, and it looks like I’ll be your only source of information until Lucius changes his mind about these pictures facing the wall, so you’d better be nice to me.”

“I thought I already explained that Malfoys aren’t nice.”

“You’d better be useful to me, then, or I have no reason not to turn this painting back around right now.”

Draco took that better than she’d expected. He gave a respectful nod. “I think we’ll be able to work together. All right. The obvious reason the pictures all face the wall is that my father doesn’t wish his ancestors to know of his shame.”

“His ancestors?” 

“You don’t even know about wizarding portraits, do you? Every Malfoy who’s lived in England since our arrival in 1066 is remembered with a portrait on the walls of Malfoy Manor. Each portrait is imbued with the personality and some of the knowledge we had when we were alive, although in a simplified, stylized form, depending on the skill and style of the artists who created us. I told my parents it was unnecessary to make me sit for one at seventeen, but they insisted, saying the war made it necessary. Stupid waste of time. Poncy artist. Anyway, these portraits were my friends growing up. Every one of them is based on a powerful and accomplished witch or wizard. The stories they tell! Centuries of Malfoy superiority, not just to muggles, but also to the common sorts of wizardkind.” He suddenly looked disturbed. “Gods, I don’t want to break the news to them either. They were distraught to think that our line had finally ended, with me, the last Malfoy heir, dead, and my father missing, presumably dead or in prison for life, but this might even be worse. For the pure Malfoy line to be contaminated with muggle filth! Wait, don’t—“

Lexie turned the paintings back to face the walls. The silence was immediate, Draco’s voice and the birdsong both ending as if she’d turned off her stereo.

When she returned to her room and slipped between the cool sheets, Lucius was gone.


End file.
